


When You Coming Home, Son?

by HistoryNerd1066



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis Whump, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, Post-Episode: s01e04 The Good Soldier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-02-28 18:18:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18761818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HistoryNerd1066/pseuds/HistoryNerd1066
Summary: Still reeling from the last surprise from the past, Aramis receives another unexpected visitor, forcing him to reconnect with those in his past as well as his present.





	1. Chapter 1

Constance found herself, as she often had since her new lodger came into her life, in the centre of the Musketeer garrison. So often was she there that she was quite familiar with most of the soldiers, having shared small conversations with some oftentimes. However, when confronted by a stranger, claiming to be searching for a Musketeer named René, she questioned the extent of her knowledge.

“I’m sorry Monsieur, I don’t recognise that name. Perhaps you could ask one of the soldiers, hm,” Constance searched around the garrison, picking out the older, taciturn Musketeer first. He probably would not thank her for this. “Athos!” Beckoning him over, she explained the situation.

“René?” Athos turned to the short man to confirm the name, and hesitated only briefly before shaking his head. “No, there is no Musketeer of that name.”

“Perhaps he works in the garrison, but not a soldier?” Constance suggested, seeing their visitor growing only more irritated by their refutations. She was also familiar with the other staff around the garrison, however, and was even more certain that there was no René among them.

“No,” the man sighed gruffly, “I am here to see the _Musketeer_ René d’Herblay. Certainly a Musketeer, and you can trust me on that. I witnessed many an argument over such,” Constance frowned, watching a grin form as he seemed to revisit such arguments. Removing his hat, he scratched at his brow, realising that this would not be the short visit he imagined.

“Can you give us a description? How long has he been a Musketeer?” Athos offered, though subtly throwing a withered gaze towards Constance.

“He _has_ been in the service of the King since almost the beginning, if I recall correctly.” Their visitor stated, glaring at Athos. “It might make more sense for me to speak with your Captain possibly, as he must have a better knowledge than some on such matters.”

“That won’t be necessary, Monsieur.” A more companionable voice spoke from behind, cutting off Athos’ terse reply. “Now, Antione, you should care to show some respect.”

“You, René, should know I only show my respect to those who have earnt it.” Antione turned, beaming as he drank in the sight of his mystery Musketeer. “This pair has it that I’m mad!”

René’s eyebrows raised at his companion, “and you think them wrong?”

“I’m not yet a senile old man,” Antione shook his head. “Anyway, I am not _so_ much older than this arrogant arse!” Throwing a thumb in Athos' direction, Aramis momentarily spared his brother a glance. 

“Yes well, still mad.” Gazing at Antione, René beamed, reaching out to embrace the old visitor. “It’s good to see you, old friend.”

“And it is strange to see you!” Antione exclaimed as he pulled away, taking in the mature Musketeer once again. “Still such a young face, but you’ve changed. It’s really you?”

“Is it really me? Is it really _you_? It’s been an age.” Aramis’ smile tempered into something softer, leaving the pair in a comfortable silence for a moment.

That was, until Constance cleared her throat, reminding the seemingly oblivious pair that both her and Athos still stood by, having been left more confused than before.

“Aramis?” Athos found his voice, unfamiliar with being someone who was one or several steps behind. He stared at his brother, for once with only questions and unknowing. He understood some soldiers used aliases and had never actually questioned any of his brothers’ pasts, yet now that he had been forced to recognise it he was uncertain of how to proceed.

“Aramis?” Antione repeated, turning back to René’s comrade. “You know these two?” Aramis blushed slightly at the question, never having prepared himself for his past melding with his present a second time. “And they know you. As _Aramis_?”

Nodding, Aramis placed his arm gently around his companion’s shoulders, schooling his features to face the curious pair. “Yes, I’ll explain later. First, Antione. I assume you’re here on some important business?” Turning to Antione, he immediately quashed any questions that remained on the lips of Constance or Athos, and led the stranger away.

“ _He’s_ René?” Constance asked, to nobody in particular, as she and Athos watched their friend leave them bewildered.

* * *

 

Having led Antione to a quieter spot within the garrison, Aramis dropped his arm from his friend’s shoulder and smiled, still not quite sure if he was truly there. He had contacted his family many times, but only through letters as they were so far and his life as a soldier too demanding to ever commit to a visit.

“So, they know you as Aramis?” Antione queried, refusing to drop the subject raised already from his visit. The Musketeer sighed deeply, removing the hat from his head to run a busy hand through his hair. Worrying what issues he would face later with his brothers, he tried to focus his mind on more pressing matters – what on earth was Antione doing here?

“Never mind that, Antione,” his older companion raised an eyebrow sceptically, implying that the topic would almost definitely be addressed later. By himself and Aramis’ comrades. Rolling his eyes affectionately, Aramis continued, “not that I don’t welcome your visit, on the contrary, but how have you found your way into the Musketeer garrison? Surely you have not just strolled along to Paris so that you can question my choice of an alias!”

“Yes, well, I think I have an inkling as to why you chose _Aramis_ specifically. What I find more difficult to understand is _why_ use an alias?” Aramis’ glare was soft, yet it would not faulter under such questioning. “You’re right, I’m afraid I didn’t come here of my own volition, though it is good to see you. I was sent by your father, he tells me you have exchanged letters?”

Aramis nodded, recalling the last few he had received. The volume of letters and depth within had decreased more recently, and the young man was aware of the cause. “It’s bad.” He eyed a wary Antione, who seemed reluctant as he soon dropped the comic act and began worrying a thread hanging from a sleeve. “He would simply have written had it been good news, if he was recovering.”

“I’m afraid you are correct, René.” Antione shook his head solemnly, “he has asked if you will come, should you be able. His doctor fears this is most possibly your last chance.”

Aramis’ eyes grew wide in shock. He had been aware of his father’s condition, but not to the extent it had now reached. Despite his somewhat considerable grasp of medicine, he had always imagined his father recovering. Thinking about it, he realises how optimistically naïve he had been.

“Will you come?”

“Of course, of course.” Aramis nodded vehemently, “how soon?”

“Well, as soon as possible, his condition is deteriorating quite rapidly. Would you come back with me today?”

“I think I could, yes,” Aramis’ hand shook once more through his bushy curls as his weight shifted from one leg to the other. “I must speak with my Captain, but I will most certainly come with you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the kind responses and kudos so far, I'm glad you're enjoying the story!

Athos decided it best to wait on the edge with Constance, watching Aramis’ discussion from afar. He was feeling rather perplexed by the whole thing, and he knew Constance was attempting to make out what the pair were saying to one another. It appeared rather serious, their earlier joviality seeming to die down in an instant.

Watching as Aramis made to leave, placing his hat back atop his head with a reassuring nod to his guest, Athos wondered what had come of their conversation. Antione, as Athos now knew him to be named, made no move to leave, although Aramis had already turned as was making his way across the garrison. The older Musketeer followed him through, successfully catching his eye, thinking he was coming towards him. Nevertheless, Athos was surprised when Aramis actually continued, only offering him a brief incline of the head and he passed on his way to their Captain’s office.

Constance sighed beside him, having watched the scene unfold. Perhaps she had been thinking similar to Athos, worried their young friend would not reveal anything to them. It had not been long since another face of Aramis’ past had arrived, challenging their brotherhood, although Athos imagined they had mostly moved on as Aramis wasn’t one to dwell. Athos knew his brother was not fully over the ordeal yet, but he imagined he would come to them if he truly needed their help. Wouldn’t he?

Antione, as Athos now knew him to be named, had strolled over to Athos and Constance in the meantime, a smile forming once again on his wrinkled features. _Not so much older than this arrogant arse_. Athos frowned, wondering if the elderly man had simply come over to gloat, that he had been right and there was a Musketeer named René, and it turned out he was one of Athos’ closest brothers. Still, if that was the reason for his coming over, Athos refused to give him any satisfaction.

“I apologise for my earlier remark against you, I was unaware René had taken a different name.” Antione was apparently a better man than had originally seemed, and Athos was beginning to sense the familiarity between their visitor and his brother. He had no idea exactly what that connection was, however. Too old to be a brother, but not his father, Athos could surmise at least. Probably.

“Oh please, we’re sorry!” Constance shook her head smiling before Athos had a chance to say anything, “he seemed very pleased to see you.” She noted, perhaps aiming for subtlety but quite easily missing.

“Yes, well, it has been a very long time as he said.” Antione’s smile faltered only slightly, yet Athos noticed a defence building as the grin was reinforced.

“It must be good to catch up some, then.” Constance nodded, not missing the hesitance in Antione’s voice herself. “I’m Constance, by the way. This is Athos,” turning, she indicated the silent Musketeer who offered a gentle bow of the head.

“Ah, so you know René well! I’ve heard many things,” Antione winked, “ _mostly_ good. All quite worrying,” chuckling, his eyes searched the garrison. “I wonder, aren’t there others? I’m sure he has mentioned a couple of other names?”

“d’Artagnan and Porthos,” Athos finally interjected. “Unfortunately, they are on duty at the palace.”

“Perhaps you can meet them, though.” Constance continued, seeing the shadow of disappointment fall over Aramis’ companion. “If you are staying long?”

“I’m afraid I don’t think I will be here that much longer,” shaking his head, he spared a brief glance in the direction of Tréville’s office. The pair expected an elaboration, but nothing further was offered, disappointing them both.

“You have heard of us, you say?” Athos inquired, trying to draw as much information from Antione whilst he had him here.

“Hm? Oh, yes. The letters we receive from René often detail his missions and his closest friends. I am glad he has formed such a close bond,” Athos could not miss the hint of a challenge in the older man’s seemingly friendly statement. Antione was evidently protective of the young soldier, despite the fact he had identified this pair as his friends.

Their tight brotherhood was recovering only recently from Marsac’s return, although he had been known to Porthos and Athos at least, and the details were easily taken in by d’Artagnan. This man was a complete stranger, however, searching for a man with a name Athos had never heard of. He couldn’t help but ponder if Porthos was privy to Aramis’ past, although he suspected that he was as much in the dark as he, despite their seemingly closer bond. Aramis had never appeared hostile over his past, yet none of his brothers had ever brought it up, as it was an unspoken rule within their brotherhood that a man’s past was his _past_. The fact that Athos was now caught unawares, by a man casting worrying insinuations of their friendship, was rather unnerving even for Athos.

“Yes, although it is strange he has not mentioned you,” Athos felt Constance’s glare burn into him immediately.

Athos knew this man would not divulge any information to him, but there was probably no harm in trying to coax him a little.

“Perhaps, but if he has not told you his real name, then there must be a reason.”

* * *

"Aramis?" Tréville barely had to glance as the door swung open before giving him chance to hear a knock; he knew only two Musketeers brash enough to have such disregard, and the other was currently on duty at the palace.

“Captain,” Aramis began, seeming somewhat distressed. “I’ve reconsidered your offer of some time away.”

“What?” Tréville blinked. That was unexpected. “That was a few days ago.”

“I know, but I’ve been thinking about it. Perhaps you were right.”

“Aramis,” the Captain sighed. “How long will you need?”

“I will make sure to return promptly, but I’m going to visit family.” Aramis confided. “My father is ill, and I think it should be best for me to go and see him.”

Tréville watched the young man closely. He had barely heard any mention of Aramis’ family in the time he knew the Musketeer. Still, he honestly would be glad if Aramis were to take leave for a time and preferred if the young man did not rush himself. The last week or so had been rather trying for both of them to say the least, and the Captain knew Aramis still had a long way to go to getting back to himself. Even if Aramis had an ulterior motive for taking this trip, Tréville suspected time away would do him some good.

“Alright,” Tréville acquiesced. “Yes, you should go if it will help. When will you leave?”

“I would hope to leave today, if possible.”

“This is quite short notice,” Tréville folded his arms, leaning back in his chair. “I suppose if it is so urgent then I won’t argue.” Aramis offered a small smile in relief, although Tréville knew his soldier understood his own motives.

“Thank you, Captain.” Aramis bowed, turning quickly to leave.

“Wait,” Calling him back, he silently cursed. Tréville had noticed the eagerness with which Aramis now left his office the past few occasions. Yes, time away would be helpful for the both of them. “Should I be giving anybody else this leave, too?”


	3. Chapter 3

D’Artagnan strolled through the garrison entrance beside a rather bored Porthos, and glances the sight of his landlady sitting across the table from Athos. His face lights up as he beams, not yet mastering his growing feelings for Madame Bonacieux. _Madame_ , he must remember that. Anyway, she was not in the company of her irritating husband today, and d’Artagnan knew Porthos and Athos would at least keep him in check if he were to do anything rash. That begged the question though, what was she doing here?

Porthos had apparently been curious too, as whilst d’Artagnan had been in his own little world – seriously, he must stop doing that – his giant friend had wandered away over to the table where d’Artgnan’s landlady and his mentor sat in deep conversation. Athos in deep conversation with Constance? He was only just registering it now, although when he looked again he realised really it was Constance speaking _at_ Athos; as if it could have been any other way.

“So ‘e’s just gone?” D’Artagnan caught up, but was already lagging behind in the conversation.

“He was in a hurry to go, yes.” Athos nodded, staring into the yard in deep thought.

“Constance,” d’Artagnan grinned to his landlady whilst he had the chance. Sitting beside her, she only just returned his smile, paying him no real heed. It was rather in d’Artagnan’s nature to feel somewhat slighted by such a dismissal but turning now to Porthos, who had followed d’Artagnan’s lead and taken a seat by Athos, he realised there was something quite amiss.

“What’s happened?” he asked when nobody filled him in.

“It’s Aramis,” Constance sighed, staring warily at the table top as she removed the hands underneath her chin, crossing them instead on the table so she could turn to her lodger.

“What?” D’Artagnan frowned, then scanned the garrison. “Where is he?”

The young Gascon had only been with the Inseparables for quite a short period, but he was beginning to grasp their dynamic and the individuals themselves. Only recently had he been able to catch a glimpse of Aramis’ character, the man appearing more of a mystery to d’Artagnan than even Athos sometimes. All d’Artagnan knew of the gregarious Musketeer before his old comrade’s undesirable return was that he loved life and fancied women. Quite a few, actually. Aramis’ cheerful mask never left any room for questions, and d’Artagnan found it all too easy to just accept it for who he was. It became clear Athos and Porthos had made that same decision some time ago too, as their friendship cracked on Marsac’s arrival. The repair was dragging along slowly, and these past few days had been somewhat trying for all involved.

“He’s not here,” Athos answered, although it was Porthos’ features that became shadowed by frustration.

“But we don’t know where,” briskly, Porthos shook his head. “You said the Captain knows, yeah?”

“It’s no use, _mon ami._ ” Athos let out a breath, aware he was wasting it. “It seems Aramis would rather keep this to himself.”

D’Artagnan sputtered, reminding the Musketeers again of his presence. “Why would he do that?” He asked in complete disbelief. Again, he had known these men only briefly, but you would have to be blind to not see their close bond.

“’e’s not been ‘imself, recently.”

“Yes, you must have noticed the strain between us.” Athos nodded, sharing in Porthos’ dismay.

“Well, it’s no wonder.” All eyes glanced up, and d’Artagnan turned to Constance, whom he forgot was there for a regretful moment. “You cannot choose what secrets you wish to hear, only those you tell.”

Standing so as to hover over them, Constance appeared to take in the Musketeer’s expressions of shock with some glee. Perhaps she was mad at them for what had happened, but d’Artagnan was aware she enjoyed putting them on the spot as they went speechless. Her lodger had been on the receiving end many a time and knew you could not remove yourself from her warpath unless it was earnt.

“You know just as well as I that the strain is not due to Marsac,” staring each one of them down, d’Artagnan began to fidget slightly. He knew what she was saying was correct, having actually confided in her earlier that he wasn’t sure he had done the right thing, so it felt a little harsh that he should be cast under the same temper as the elder Musketeers. “I’m no fan of Marsac, but Aramis is a friend. To _all of us_. Still, he buried his comrade alone, just as he did those other soldiers.”

Athos listened carefully, sparing d’Artagnan a withering glare. Yes, he had told Constance some things about Marsac and Aramis’ past, although he didn’t remember doing so in so much detail. Groaning silently, he wondered why it was he always seemed to find himself under suspicion.

“Aramis won’t tell you this, of course, and you should be grateful he forgives as easily as he does.” Sparing them a scornful frown, she finished, “because if he had abandoned you as you did him, would you do the same?”

It was difficult to take, for d’Artagnan at least. Watching Constance turn away, he wondered briefly whether she had been saving this up for his and Porthos’ return. Possibly, as Constance was not one to spare any who had done wrong. And they had, he knew. When he had confided in Constance, it was less that he wasn’t sure he had made the wrong decision, and more so that he was seeking some sort of forgiveness.

Well, it was clear now that none of the Inseparables would find forgiveness within Constance, at least not until they had admitted their failure to stand by their friend and make amends. His landlady was, however, right in thinking that Aramis would forgive his brothers easily. It had not been a quick process getting back to their normal routine, but it would happen, and d’Artagnan suspected the shock of it all had mostly taken its toll on his brother.

“Perhaps,” Athos finally collected himself, pulling his brothers from their surprise, “Madame Bonacieux has given us some harsh truths.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the response to this story so far, glad people are enjoying it!
> 
> Sorry for the slow update, I've got uni exams coming up so most of my time currently is being spent on revision. Kind of a bore, but unfortunately has to be done.   
> With this in mind, I won't promise a quick update because the truth is I'm not 100% sure when I can get the next chapter done, although I can say it shouldn't be too soon! If it's longer than a week, feel free to give me a nudge or something. I'm enjoying writing this story a lot more than revision, so chances are I'll try and update it asap as a break from all the work. 
> 
> To sum up: Thanks for reading, hopefully will be back soon with another chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, I am here to apologise for my terrible, terrible updating, and to ask for your forgiveness. I'm sorry it's taken so long, I've just finished my exams so I should hopefully be a lot better, the stress is finally gone. I have every intention of finishing this story, even if it takes me 10 years, it shall be done! Although it probably won't take me that long, don't worry. Hope you enjoy this chapter and those to come, thanks for the response so far and for sticking with me!

Aramis wondered how long Antione would stay quiet on his saddle, the older man having remained strangely silent since they began their journey. The Musketeer wondered if something had been said between his brothers and his uncle. Thinking about it, he wished he had not left as hurriedly as he did, having neither explained who Antione was nor where he was going to anybody but Tréville. When his Captain had asked if he would take someone with him, it had taken him less time than he thought it would to decide this was a journey he should take alone. The strain between them was unsettling, and although he had understood their doubt in Marsac, it was still difficult for him to move past their abandonment. As he had explained to Constance in a quiet moment, he had forgiven them of course, but the pain of loss for his brother was going to take some time to move on from.

“You think too much,” Antione beckoned from in front, eliciting a loud huff from the younger man. Clearly his respite was over, Antione never being one to leave a conversation that should be had to a later date.

“And you ask too many questions,” the younger man countered with a smirk, rolling his eyes as he brought his horse to travel by his uncle’s side.

“That is because there are many questions left unanswered, Aramis.”

Aramis caught Antione’s eyes with a mocking scowl, aware of his uncle’s cruel teasing. Despite their journey being one of urgency and despair, Aramis was grateful for Antione’s positive manner in times such as these. It had managed to keep him anchored as a child when he had initially arrived at his father’s home, and those memories are what he clung to in times of need.

“I rather like it, actually.” Antione admitted with a smile. “René, of course, I have no issue with, but Aramis.” He paused, listening to the sound the name played on his tongue. “I am surprised, however,” he continued, seeming more thoughtful now. “You would choose a name that, perhaps, actually ties you closer to home than your real name. Did you not choose an alias to cut such strings?”

“Antione,” Aramis sighed, scratching at his brow. He had not expected this topic of conversation so early, despite its inevitability. The Musketeer had hoped, quite naively, that he would be able to address it once he arrived at his old home, so he would be able to tell his family together, rather than one by one. “You know, of all people, that I did not take the decision to leave _lightly_.”

“And yet, it _was_ a decision you made.” There was no hatred in it, Aramis could tell. It was simply a statement of a devastating fact, and it had the desired effect on the young man.

“Yes,” he whispered. “But I write, and you know I have never forgotten you. You are with me always,” he spoke sincerely, and he knew Antione took him at his word.

“I understand, but it is not just me you will have to explain it to.”

“I know,” Aramis sucked in a breath, as if trying to mentally prepare himself early. “Father understood, though. I’m sure.”

“And what about Pierre?”

“Pierre,” Aramis had barely thought of anyone but his father since he began travelling. “How did he react? When you told him I might return?”

Antione shrugged, pulling a disconcerting face. “Well Aramis, you know Pierre.” The older man sighed, but when Aramis saw his face he knew his uncle was simply teasing again.

“ _Uncle_ ,” he groaned, almost begging to just be put out of his misery.

“The young man was rather delighted, actually.” Antione grinned, his mind taking him back to the memory. “Not sure how he will take to calling you Aramis, though.”

“He won’t have to,” Aramis shook his head. “I would prefer it if he didn’t, really. I want it to be the same, I don’t want him to think me a stranger.”

“You are no stranger,” Aramis noticed Antione staring him up and down, as if to try and make his eyes believe his statement. “Still, it has been a long time since you were home. Things are bound to be different.”

“I understand.” Exhaling, the young man stared down at his horse, still attempting to muddle his head around things. It was enough he was feeling less comfortable around his chosen brothers, now to be awkward around his true brother would be too much for his heart to bear.

“René,” Antione spoke again after a moment of silence, garnering his nephew’s attention. “What is it? What is eating at you? Even before I told you about your father you have seemed distracted.”

“It is complicated, uncle.” Aramis knew the older man would notice the use of the title rather than his name, and pounce with his never-ending questions.

“You want to talk about it,” the Musketeer smirked, Antione was playful but intensely observant. “It is to do with your friends?”

“It is complicated, as I said.” Turning properly to try and explain to Antione, he continued, “I feel as if I am drifting from them. I have gone through things over and over, and I can say I understand it from their perspective, I do. I just feel as though the foundations on which we built our brotherhood are crumbling.

“I will spare you exact details of the events past. My brothers abandoned me at a time of need, as I followed an old comrade who had deserted.” Aramis noticed Antione’s raised brow, and was quick to explain, “extenuating circumstances. He was suffering, and he walked away, with nothing else to give.

Except, he returned recently, and having been with him during tough times, I stood by his side once again. However, my friends, sharing reasonable doubt, did not stand by mine. I understand they were turning their backs on him rather than me, but I was left to pick up the pieces alone.”

“If I may,” Antione cleared his throat, having listened closely to his nephew’s plight. “You say you want to connect with your friends again, yes?” Aramis nodded. “Yet, they do not even know your name, they do not know your past! How can a true bond be built on this?”

“My past does not speak for me, Antione. I will carry it with me, always. But our bond has always held strong because we are by each other in the present, and that is all that matters.”

“I understand, I think.” Offering a soft smile, Antione conceded the point. “Still, if you want to find your way back to them, perhaps reconnecting with your past and letting them in some will not damage your chances.”

* * *

 

Porthos paced up and down the garrison, waring away the ground underneath him. Athos and d’Artagnan were desperate for him to cease, yet knew any protesting was futile; as Athos had predicted, Porthos insisted on asking Tréville for the whereabouts of his brother. Their Captain, apparently under oath, refused to say.

“He requested some time alone, so we should _all_ allow him such.”

Athos had barely managed to pacify Porthos, who was growing more agitated by the second. In his defence, Athos felt just as frustrated. Their Captain’s silence didn’t help, but it was more disconcerting to him that Tréville had agreed to a request _from_ Aramis not to reveal where he would be spending his time away.

Constance’s words danced through his head, any resistance to them surrendering immediately. He knew they rang true, but they were hard to stomach. He wondered if that was the reason for Porthos’ incessant pacing. The frustration at their own mistakes outweighed that aimed towards Aramis, a man whose forgiveness they were unworthy.

“Maybe we should just wait for him to come back?” Athos heard d’Artgnan shrug, apparently having a conversation with Porthos the older man had missed. Still, he picked up on the growl directed at the young Gascon, and he closed his eyes in resignation.

“Porthos, leave the boy be.” Not wanting to get too involved, having been absorbed contentedly with his own thoughts for the moment, he tried to ignore the glare Porthos shot the boy’s way. Still, he knew the bigger man would not take it any further, allowing for d’Artagnan’s incomplete experience of their brotherhood.

“You just gonna sit there?” Athos groaned, Porthos apparently turning his ire towards him.

“There is no rescue to be set in motion, no foe to vanquish, what else shall I do?” rolling his eyes, he scratched his head, trying to refocus his thoughts.

Porthos slammed a hand on the table, glaring at the indifferent expression Athos pointedly refused to alter. “’E’s our brother,”

“I am aware.” The older man ground out. “However, it would be ridiculous for us to search the whole of France for somebody who does not want our attention.”

“’E needs us!” Porthos roared, forcing a slight jump from d’Artagnan.

“No,” despondently, Athos shook his head. “He _needed_ us.”

Hearing a thump, Athos brought his eyes up to see the big man had taken the seat across him, despair washing over him instantly as the truth seeped through. _How were they ever going to fix this?_


	5. Author's Note

Hey all! I'm so sorry for the delay in things, but I'm afraid life is slowing me down at the moment, mentally and physically. I dislocated my knee a few weeks ago and my family have received some bad news quite recently, so I can't say for sure when I'll be updating, although I can say that I will be.

I'm away this week, but hopefully by next week I'll be somewhat recuperated and I can at least start writing even if I don't complete it.

Again, sorry for the wait! Hopefully there are some still interested in the story. 


	6. Author's Note

Hey, so after trying and trying to continue this story, I'm finding it very difficult. Having lost someone close to me only a couple of months ago, it's hard for me to carry this story on. I'm not going to delete the story, in case I can update it one day, but I'm afraid for now I won't be continuing the story. So sorry, and thank you guys for following it and for your kind comments!


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